


Hear the Sky Sing

by Skuttlebutts (AtmosphericDisruption)



Series: The Heart It Beats, The Thunder Rolls [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Godly!Thor, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Thor: The Dark World, Sentient!Storms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-03-11 08:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3320420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtmosphericDisruption/pseuds/Skuttlebutts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The god called out to the storm, a sound not meant for human ears that flashed like lighting through the air and the winds changed immediately, correcting its course to meet him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lightning Skald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thor calls a storm.

Thor had noticed the approaching storm days ago. It had started as a faint pressure in his chest that had built up to a comforting ache. It was born out in the empty stretches of ocean to the west, churning up silt from the sea depths as it made its way east. Ah, there. It had finally noticed him. The pressure erupted into a rumble of excitement and the gentle winds that swept through Los Angeles quieted. It sat off shore collecting moisture as its cloud body roiled and hail battered the coastal waters. As night began to fall, the temperature dropped 12 degrees and the winds kicked up, blowing away the sticky heat that had persisted most of the afternoon. A shelf cloud spread across the city, chasing the dying rays of sunlight that coloured its wind torn underside in brilliant reds and oranges.

  
Thor leaned over the edge of his balcony, watching the progression with growing excitement, Mjolnir sitting idly on the rail by his elbow. Lightning arched across the sky, reaching towards the shore and highlighting the dark grey mass that made up the storms anvil. It crackled between the layers in a merry dance to the continuous rumble of thunder, and he could hear the rain as it came down on the sandy beaches. The main body of the storm was still out at sea, rotating slowly as it sped north, towards the down town area. The over excited system had gotten caught up in the westerlies and would bypass him completely. That wouldn’t do at all.

  
The god called out to the storm, a sound not meant for human ears that flashed like lighting through the air and the winds changed immediately, correcting its course to meet him. The heavy curtain of rain swept across the lush residential dotted slopes, slanting eastward as the wind rushed forth. Rain fell fast and heavy, turning the area into a muted gray landscape. Thor was soaked in seconds, his light clothing providing little protection against the elements. It was glorious. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the damp strands out of his eyes as he grinned. He stretched his hand out to catch a passing streak of lighting. It curled around his fingers before racing up his arm to settle around his shoulders, making his skin tingle with its contained energy. The storms on midgard were so friendly, trying to do the same on Asgard would have left him with singed fingers. Stubborn didn’t even begin the describe them.

  
He closed his eyes as the storms unique voice resonated within his chest, overriding the background noises of the rustling trees and pounding rain. It was joyful and full of questions, demanding his attentions while thoroughly investigating its new playmate. Thor was happy to comply with the storms wishes, and they conversed in cracks of thunder, flashes of lightning, and the cadence of rainfall. Mjolnir chimed in, sending bright blue flashes of lightning into the sky accompanied by thunder so low it sounded like the earth was speaking.  
It wasn’t long before Thor took to the sky, following the mesocyclone’s rotation up into the heart of the storm. How could he say no to its offer of play when it came all this why to meet him? Clouds pressed in on all sides, but there was no feeling of confinement. If Thor had been mortal, visibility would have been nonexistent, but he could pick out the ghost like shapes of giant birds as they collected lighting in their beaks, humanoid figures that danced upon the seas of clouds, and creatures whose dealings were their own. Now this, this was peace. The muffled sounds of thunder rumbled in his chest and curious bolts of lightning struck him intermittently, testing his resilience.

  
A swing of his hammer had the lighting dancing as the thunder pounded out one of the many rhythms he learned from the fickle storms on Asgard. The storm quieted for a moment as it listened before playing the primal sounds back to him. Teaching centuries old beats to the fledgling storm was a treat, its entire body roiled and fluctuated as the wind and rain played counterpoint to the cacophony that was thunder and lightning, causing a spectacular show for those watching below.

  
After the music lesson, he soon made a game of collecting as much lighting as he could before the balls of concentrated energy blew up in his face. Mjolnir’s disapproval was evident, but honestly, a little bit of lightning never hurt. It just so happened that his ‘little bit’ was equivalent to a small bomb, and the resulting crack was enough to set off car alarms for a mile around.

  
Thor let the storm show off as much as it liked, keeping him entertained as games were invented and races were held. It was some of the most fun he had had on earth in a long while. It look a bit of coaxing, but the torrential downpour slowed to a lazy drizzle as the night wore on, in contrast to the turbid clouds above.

  
The main updraft of the storm swirled over the mansion, the sky churning as the wind whipped the clouds into a frenzy and lightning lit up the interior of the rotating column. The national weather service was having a field day trying to explain the unexplainable phenomenon and hopeful storm chasers jumped at the chance to see a possible tornado in L.A. as the storm held its position into the early hours of the dawn.


	2. That Good Old Sweet Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's got music in his soul too, even if no one else can hear it.

Thor hung back as his brother played, listening to the deep vibrations that Loki pulled out of the wind organ. All eyes were on the raven haired male as his fingers flew across the ivory keys, even Odin gave his full attention. It wasn't fair. His hard learned drills were just as impressive ( aren't they? ), yet they hardly managed to keep his fathers attention. It wasn't fair. He fought to keep himself from scowling. Loki deserved to be the centre of attention, it didn't happen often enough, and yet he was envious. A tongue of shame curled in his breast and Thor slumped against the wall. What kind of brother was he? Loki had practiced incessantly for months just for this moment, a chance to show their parents what he could do, and Thor would be damned if he ruined this for him. 

He picked at a lose thread on his trousers a d hummed quietly along with the familiar tune. His wished he had a deep baritone like Volstagg, or a pleasing tenor like Fandral. Even Sif could sing, and Hogan often joined Loki on that weird harp thing he brought from home. And Thor? Thor just hummed. 

His tutors hadn't seen the need to push him past the basics in the arts and he found that he regrets his childish refusal to practice. Maybe if he had he would be playing alongside his brother rather than watching from the side-lines. Though prowess in battle was important, the ability to create was cherished with equal fervor. His smithing lessons were going quite well and his master was pleased with his attention to detail, but the man fawned over his brothers works. Not they weren't worth the praise, they were beautiful twists of metal formed into delicate broaches and thin chains that were woven together to form thick chokers and bracelets. His own creations seemed clumsy in comparison. 

One night he had overheard the newly appointed head tutor discussing his progress with his father. Excited to hear what the man had to say he pressed closer to the study door, staying as still as a statue. His grades were good, not as good as Loki's (except in mathematics, where he surpassed his brother) but that was to be expected. As the conversation continued his good mood deflated. The tutor thought he was unimaginative, simple, and only capable of regurgitating spoon fed information. 

It stormed for three straight days. 

Thor just wanted one thing that was his. That wasn't too much to ask for, was it? And his skill in sparring did not count, this was Asgard, fighting was in their blood. And since he was not old enough to join any of there tournaments, he had no way of showing off his skill in any official capacity. He wanted to be seen as more than the first born son of the king. He wanted to be the first to wield that stupid hammer. He wanted to play with his brother, even if it was only once. Thor wanted a number of things, but only one was readily achievable. 

It took him a few months, but he had finally managed to procure an instrument that had never before graced the halls of Asgard. Mortals called it the viola. When Thor wasn't tied up in lessons or training he was practicing. When he was younger he had stumbled across an old cellar in the south west corner of the vast network underneath the castle. It was there that he learned to turn the ear bleeding caterwauling into something resembling music in secret. If anyone noticed his absences, they said nothing. 

He had once made the mistake of asking Sif which instrument would suite him. She responded with an axe, thinking he meant an instrument of war. When he clarified she snorted loud enough to the attention of people several tables over. She then informed him that he'd better stick to swinging his axe, everyone knew he wasn't...artistically inclined. He did not bring it up again. 

Learning to produce pleasing sounds was more than a challenge. He had no instruction, no visual guidance, or even sheet music. But what he did have was unwavering persistence and a ready supply of horse hair and gut string. Every string instrument Thor had come across in his short life was played by plucking, so he started with that first, learning the basics of the alien instrument. When he finally put bow to sting, he was surprised by the depth and volume of the sound produced. 

It took him many moon cycles and bundles of horse hair to get the gist of the bowed instrument. His fingers, while used to the strain of smith work, suffered from friction of sliding his fingers up and down the fret. After a while callouses began forming on the tips of his fingers, allowing him to practice for longer periods of time. 

He made up silly tunes, played well known compositions, and worked on penning down any melody that came to mind. The once bare walls of the cellar were covered in note papers and the once cold stone floor was blanketed with the soft strands of broken horse hair. Gut strings, dirty dishes, and half completed assignments littered the oak table he had pilfered from a storage hall. It was a space that was all his own and not even Loki was able to find him when he scuttled away after lessons. 

If there was a storm rolling in at night, Thor would sneak outside with the viola under his arm and played with the howling wind. Those night were always the best, even if he returned home freezing and soaked an hour before was due to eat breakfast. If he didn't know better he would say that the storms played with him rather than raging on despite his noise. But that's impossible, storms had better things to do than listen to his wailing viola. ( But he liked to pretend anyways) 

Present Day, L.A. -

Thor ducked into one of the mansions soundproof relaxation rooms with his viola and bow tucked securely under his arm. He hadn't played since he arrived in L.A., what with socializing and cooking taking up the majority of his time. But he promised himself that he would take one day this week to just play, and today was that day. Mjolnir was set carefully on the rooms only chair, a plush deep red lounger, as he went about tuning the viola, the notes ringing clearly in the absolutely silent room. 

Once he was satisfied with the string instruments notes, he ran through his normal battery of warm ups, getting himself back into the motions of playing. He fiddled around with the viola a bit more before actually starting to play. 

He began with a sweet mournful tune, gently drawing his bow across the strings. His fingers carefully pressed down on each string as they moved up and down the fret. The tune was one from his childhood, a lullaby the queen would sing to her little prince's before kissing them goodnight. His mother had the most beautiful voice that even the soft strains of the viola fell short of compare. 

Thor lost himself in the melody and the memories, swaying with the pull of the bow. He had never gotten to play for his mother. He had many opportunities but he pushed them aside in favour of silly pranks and tavern stays. The notes were crisp and clear in contrast to his muddled emotions. Tears pricked behind closed eyes as he remembered sprawling at his mothers feet demanding her attention and opinion. He would lay his head against his mothers thigh as he spoke, her nimble fingers working at putting intricate braids in his messy hair. His brother would usually be on the opposite side, interjecting and correcting the epic tales of found treasure and fell beats they had come across in their travels. 

If people had known he would have been criticized as a "mama's boy", but with a mother like the one he was gifted with, how could he not revel in her company? She was the All Mother, goddess of all things maternal and the universe was poorer in her absence. Dwelling on such things would not help him relax.

The tone suddenly changed as his tempo picked up. He pulled low powerful notes, and high croons from the strings as he played, imitating the cadence of a an actual voice. Singing was not his thing. He couldn't manage to convey the necessary amount of feelings or get his vocal chords to produce normal sounds like he had when he was younger. It was probably a side effect of taking on the storms way of speaking, but that was okay. He didn't need his mouth to sing, not when he had his viola. And by the Norns did he sing.

He poured his frustrations and joys into the sharp chops of his bow and the quick almost violent fingering along the fret board. Thunder rumbled inside of the sealed room in response to his heightened emotions, providing another element for Thor to include in his playing. The back beat of thunder hadn't come about until late in his adolescence, around the time when he had gotten a good measure of control over his gifts. And the winning over of his very picky hammer. 

He flew through a speedy rendition of one of his brothers favourites that lead into the hook of a half remembered sea shanty from his sailing days. From there he segued into twanging tunes of a polka he heard on one of his visits. The lightening fast Irish jig caused the horse hairs to start to fray and the hard press of the bow against the strings to achieve the deep haunting sounds of a old hymn didn't help any.

Now, playing golden oldies was well and good, but adapting the strains of an electric guitar to fit the acoustic sound of the violin was a challenge he happily took. He had fallen in love with the staccato drumbeats and complex solos of Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, and Styx. He taught himself to play the gruff vocals and the harsh chords when he first heard it blasting out of Anthony's lab. 

His fingers danced up and down the fret as the first quick chords of Thunderstruck as he stroked the bow rapidly over the strings. He got through about half of the song, choosing the second strings part, before the tempo changed again, slowing into Skyfall. Multiple stops replicated the harmony of the artists rich voice and the long slow strokes were balanced by his ever moving fingers. 

Thor ran though his ever-growing mental list of popular music he had come to enjoy since listening to the radio for the first time in Jane's old van. This was one of the only ways he knew how to relax. His mind flowed with the currents of the sea, the jet streams of wind, the paths of newly born storms and ones fading into the atmosphere. He could feel the slow shift of the earths plates as lava pushed it's way to the surface and the low rumbles of deep sea quakes. It was distracting, being pulled in so many directions, but playing over road the call of Midgards over active systems. His duties faded under the onslaught of music and his worries were swept away with each stroke of his bow. The broken strands of horse hair brushed against his fingers as he played, a slight smile splitting his lips. He bounced on the balls of his feet and swayed with the music as he focused solely on the vibrations traveling through the wooden instrument. 

Mjolnir rumbled contentedly in the back of his mind and he switched to playing the rapidly changing tune of a storm. He chose the violent unpredictability of tornadoes to base the improvisation on, and the hammer crackled in excitement. Thor played counterpoint to the small volts of lighting that branched from Mjolnir, the frequency of sound almost imperceptible to anyone but him. He was careful to keep their energy confined to this room because of how easy it was to conjure severe weather with his impassioned playing. 

Thor focused on coaxing the Mjolnir's lighting into curling ribbons of blue white energy. They vibrated and pulsed merrily with the sound of the viola. The faster he played the brighter they glowed and the more energy they put off. The comforting smell of ozone was over powering and the controlled lighting danced around the small space. 

He didn't know how long he played, only that his stomach was grumbling and that his bow had more broken strings than not. It would need restringing. Or he could just get a new bow. He slowed to a stop, the ribbons of lightning fading out with the music. Slight pain shot through cramped fingers as he stretched. The strings would need replacing as well. He ran a finger over the once smooth coils of sheep's gut that were now worn and hot to the touch. He could do that after his nap. 

Thor yawned widely as he exited the quite room, blinking as sunlight streamed in through the hall windows. First food, he would take his meal with Anthony's robots, then he could sleep for the next day or two. Or until early afternoon of the next day at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blah. I wish I could word.


	3. About a Week Ago...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thor desperately hopes it's not a marriage proposal.

Last week had to be the absolute worst week of Thor's relatively short (for a god) life.

It was horrible and he didn't want to talk about, except that he totally did so it was a really good thing that everyone was asleep. No one wants to listen to a god of thunder have a complete and total bitch fest/nervous break down. It's not like they would have believed him anyway.

A week ago today, the molemen attacked. It was usually one moleMAN and his army (read three) of mutated minions but really, molemen sounds better than Moleman and his Mutated Minions.

Their clandestine meetings usually go a little something like this:

A wild Moleman bursts through the earths crust!

Thor frowns.

Moleman cackles and gives the usual _Speech of Unstoppable Evil_ (tm).

Thor shakes his head and plays offended at the right parts.

Moleman calls forth his (three) mutated minions from the inconvenient hole in the middle of the street/park/bus station.

Thor glares and gives one of the simple minded minion's a face to face meeting with Mjolnir Mutant Minions retreat.

Moleman "attacks".

Thor stuffs Moleman back down whatever sewer is closest.

End of story.

But that is not what happened last Tuesday.

Last Tuesday Thor, the mighty avenger, the God of Thunder and Oak Trees, The Tamer of Goats, was kidnapped.

By the Moleman himself and his mutant molemen minions (M4).

There were four this time (Did they breed?) and while the exact details of his kidnapping were too traumatizing to recount, all that needs to be said is that he was taken completely by surprise and was carted through the most foul and needlessly complex sewer system in existence.

He hoped this wasn't a marriage kidnapping, he was far too young to be married to would-be-emperors-of-the-world. At least Mjolnir was with him. And the destination? Moleopolis. Or something equally as asinine.

Name aside, it was actually a well constructed subterranean town that mimicked the layout of old medieval settlements. Or rather, it had been a well constructed subterranean town that mimicked the layout of old medieval settlements if not for the partial ruin and the corpse of something the size of a elephant that stretched across the village square.

Thor was dropped unceremoniously at the Moleman's orders and landed quite embarrassingly on his godly tush.

While the Moleman orated, Thor did his best to scrape unidentifiable substances from his jacket. He was so focused on the cleaning task, that he did not notice the ringing silence that came after Molemans speech. Or was it a question? He wasn't paying attention. A sharp kick to the knee earned the irate King of Dirt a sore foot and an agitated agreement from Thor to do whatever the Hel got him out of this place.

Or a shower.

The shower was preferable. The resulting cacophony of noise that followed his words shocked the Elemental God out of his cleaning.

The once deserted streets were filled with more of the Mutant Minions and they were cheering. That did not bode well. What did he agree too? By the grace of the Norn's let it not be marriage.

An hour long soak in a mineral rich hot spring later Thor still did not know what exactly he had agreed to do. But what he did know is that the Moleman had far more than several Mutant Minions and he hardly understand a word of their chittering language, even with the Allspeak. His clothes had been laundered and even the leather jacket had been thoroughly cleaned. However, the jeans would forever carry the stains of the initial journey. He begged off dinner, some sort of fungus salad, to go study the carcass rotting in the Moleoplis square.

It was insect like in nature with a dark amber outer shell that was covered in a thick coat of transparent yellowing hairs that dripped a sticky corrosive substance, that ate the ground beneath it away. It had an untold amount of thin legs for such a short creature and each leg ended in a hook like segment. He walked around to the head of the creature and recoiled in disgust.

The intact portion of the head was triangular, wide, milky white and opaque with no discernable eyes. Viscous yellow liquid oozed from jagged punctures in the skull and the smell was reminiscent of burnt rotting blubber. It's jaws were a cluster of wicked pincers, spread open in death like a blossoming flower displaying the creatures strangely jagged interior. It was the most vile thing he had ever seen and it reeked of deaths touch.

Thor took a step back, a shudder of disgust coursing through him as more fluid gurgled up from the punctures. His hand wrapped around Mjolnir's handle as the thing twitched, it's legs curling inward on itself.

Ugh. Gross.

Thor beat a hasty retreat as the carcass let out more noxious gasses of decomposition and searched out the kingdom's vertically challenged leader.

The z-list villain laid out a dismal scene. Every other week he would lead his people to the surface to escape the attacks. The creatures had appeared a few months ago, breaking ground in a cavern a few miles east of the settlement. They had swept through, burrowing through the bedrock with their powerful jaws and corrosive hides, devouring any and everything they had come across. The once lush subterranean caverns were now stripped almost bare as even the behemoths who called the caves home were torn apart by the new arrivals. Every two weeks they would come, like clockwork but suddenly the pattern changed.

The Moleman explained how the attacks had increased in frequency and how a few of these creatures would take the settlement by surprise, forcing the naturally peaceful peoples to fight.

As the number of causalities the increased, The Moleman had made his presence known to the surface world to seek out a champion. And he had found one in The Mighty Thor.

Now, this was all well and good but The Mighty Thor had his own problems to worry about. He may be a god, but Death IS and there was no stopping it. He could sense death's presence blanketing the area and there was nothing he could do about it but try and stem the flow. It clouded his senses, throwing him off balance in way that truly frightened him. Even the sky was quiet.

And here he was, in some subterranean cave system lit by glowing algae and stolen electricity preparing to fight giant bugs. It was honestly the last thing he wanted to do, but he was a defender of Midgard and these people needed.

By Odin's eye socket, why couldn't he be more like Loki? All aloof and uncaring...

Two days had passed with no sign of the swarm and Thor was beginning to get impatient. He missed the surface, the sky, the whisper of storms. Here they were muffled, fading into the background while the thrum of earth magic and the slow shift of tectonic plates overtook his senses.

He was basking in the villages hot springs in an attempt to distract himself from utter boredom when he heard it. A sound likened to gargling rocks reached his ears, growing louder with each passing moment.

Thor scrabbled quickly from the baths, slipping on the slick rocks around the springs edges. The high pitched wail of an alarm cut through the still air, sending the town of Mutant Minions into a surprisingly organized defensive.

Non-combatants and children were herded into a building just left of the town square and it's rotting carcass while the rest armed themselves with a mismatched array of weapons.

Thor just hand enough time to wiggle into his jeans and pull on his boots when the first wave of creatures scuttled into the cavern.

Their blind heads swung from side to side, long purple tongues slipping out from the pincer clusters to taste the air. The creatures where practically crawling over each other in their haste, their bodies rustling like dry leaves as they brushed against each other.

The sight wasn't so much as terrifying as it was disturbing. To him they felt wholly unnatural, what propose could such horrid creatures serve? He watched one break from the mass and start taking large bites from the back of a home, it's jaws cutting through the rock like butter. A hand gripped his forearm and he was pulled from his observations, looking down into the worried face of the Moleman. A silent plea passed between them and Thor nodded. It was time to smite things with his very large hammer.

The battle was messy and seemingly endless. Thor had taken point at the cities edge, heading off the swarm as they pushed themselves out of a narrow whole three at a time. The Mutant Minions took care of any that managed to slip past his Defense.

Mjolnir whistled as she flew through the air, crushing exoskeletons left and right and coming back covered in that foul smelling ichor.

That stuff was everywhere, slowly eating through his midgardian clothing, making his skin itch unpleasantly, and in his hair.

Ugh, Molemen be damned, he wanted a shower! With actual soap!

He had no idea how long the battle lasted, only that the creatures kept coming. He couldn't smell anything but their foul stench and his skin was caked in their blood. Normally, this was the sign of a good time but not in this instance. Being swallowed by a giant interstellar space slug had been more pleasant.

As time pressed on, the numbers began to dwindle. The outer edge of the settlement was ringed with mounds of corpses, providing a rotten barrier.

Their own basic fluids had begun to eat away at each other and Thor hoped he was not invited to the clean up. He was perched atop the largest mound of corpses, idly tossing Mjolnir at any insect that even hinted at not being dead.

Satisfied with the effectiveness of his massacre Thor leapt from the pile of jellifying corpses and headed into the town square, crunching through the carpet of corpses as he went. The god made a beeline for the worse for wear Mole Monarch and grabbed him by the front of the shirt, pulling him up to eye level.

After a very short...talk, Thor was escorted to the surface through clean spacious tunnels that let out in one of the drainage basins. As soon as he existed the tunnel he took flight, heading towards home and the promise of scalding hot showers.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short solo and my first post! Comments are appreciated!


End file.
